


These Old Bones

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Lokis, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On the plains of Vigrid, Loki and Heimdall are destined to meet and battle. There, they are destined to die. Loki was always a bit of a contrarian.





	These Old Bones

The first time Loki world-walked, he stumbled across a path hidden deep in the in-between and followed it all the way to Midgard. He stood in the tall grass, looking all around him at the trees and wildflowers that bounded across the meadow. He could feel bones beneath his feet, see the shapes of skulls buried in the dirt and half-eaten by the beetles and the worms. It was him. The corpses below him were his own. There were dozens more, hundreds. A thousand Lokis lay dead and buried in this field. There was no headstone, nothing to mark his graves, except for a single rock with the name _Vigrid_ carved into the side. 

Loki fled. He went straight to the observatory where Heimdall stood guard. If anyone would know what that place was, he would. “Where was I?” He demanded as soon as he came through the door. “What is Vigrid?” 

Heimdall never turned his gaze, never blinked. “Ask your father.” 

“I am asking you.” 

Silence. It stretched between them and farther out, touching the edges of the galaxy before it snapped back and Heimdall finally spoke. “It is the place where you and I were destined to fight and destined to die.” 

Hysteria bubbled up inside him and the laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it. “ _Were_? I didn’t realize destiny had an expiration date. Lucky for us then.” 

“What has happened before cannot happen again. Already destiny has changed in ways that would be impossible for you to understand as you are now. The Allfather has changed the course of your life; he wishes for you a happy ending this time.” 

Loki left the Gatekeeper and crawled into Thor’s bed, something he had not done in years. He curled next to his brother and whispered into his ear, “We’re not real.” 

Thor grunted and steadfastly refused to open his eyes. “No more riddles, Loki, I’m tired.” He turned over, pulling his blankets up to his ears in effort to block out Loki’s words.

* * *

Loki returned to Vigrid again and again. He could not stop himself. He heard his bones wailing beneath the layers of earth, the clods of dirt that rolled over their heads, the green grass that grew at their feet. They called to him, they wanted him to join them. He was them. Like a missing rib, they belonged together. He laid down on his stomach, pressed his ear against the soil, and listened to their words. _Do not trust Thor_ , one said. _He will slaughter your children and use their entrails as rope to bind you with._

_Do not trust Odin,_ said another. _He will imprison you, fasten a snake above your head, let the venom drip until your eyes have been burned away._

Loki recoiled. He did not understand. Why was he different? If Odin hated him so much, why hadn’t he left him to play out the same part he had hundreds of times before, the one that left him dead in the middle of this field? There was more to this story, but his old bones only held fragments that didn’t match up. Pieces from entirely different puzzles. There was one Loki who had no thoughts, no feelings, but was only a concept made flesh. The mortal cage for Death and Rebirth. There was another that sprouted horns from his skull and cloven hooves in place of feet. He could provide Loki with no motive for the evils he had committed, other than a compulsion he could not resist, like a puppet in the hands of a cruel storyteller. A third insisted that he had done no wrong, that Thor and Odin were all to blame. Loki did not believe any of them. They were all liars. They were all him. 

When his skin turned blue on the icy plains of Jotunheim he thought he understood where the pieces fell. That his destiny had been to be the greatest battle-mage Jotunheim had ever seen, that he would have led their armies to Asgard’s gates only to fall against Heimdall, but not before striking the killing blow himself. Was it his own happy ending that Odin had wished for? Or Heimdall’s? The Gatekeeper was Asgard’s greatest prize, and a Jotun battle-mage would be a pretty trophy to add to his collection. 

When Odin refused to give him a straight answer, when he collapsed into the Odinsleep, Loki knew he had to act. Thor would betray him, attack him. The bones had foretold it. Better to kill him first before he had a chance to kill Loki. He would kill all of Jotunheim too. He would prove to the Allfather that he was no slave, not to him, not to his bloodkin, not to destiny. He would tear himself free of the spider webs that clung to him. 

Not even Heimdall could stop him. Not this time. Not ever again. 

And somehow he still lost. That happy ending slipped from his fingers and he fell into the void, Thor’s face above him.

* * *

_Loki stood in the middle of the blood-drenched hall, staring across the sea of corpses to where Thor stood. His hammer and belt were gone, and in their place he held a magical staff. His fingers tightened around it and Loki knew that this was the moment, this was it. Thor was going to kill him. He did not mind so much. Thor would at least give him a quick death, unlike Geirrod. Hidden underneath his cloak were the twisting scars the giant had carved into his skin, so deep that not even his magic could erase them._

_“You knew he planned to kill me.”_

_“Yes.” Loki stepped over Geirrod’s body and stood directly in front of Thor. His red beard lurid with blood. “I was imprisoned for months. He offered me my freedom if I swore to bring you here.”_

_Thor shook with rage. Loki could hear the distant sound of thunder as it rushed to heed the call of its master. Loki tilted his head back. He was tired of talking. Let the end come._

_Thor spat. “You disgust me. You are no man. If you were not my father’s sworn brother I would kill you now.” Thor turned away and left Loki standing in the middle of Geirrod’s hall amidst the bodies._

_It was life then. So be it._

Loki opened his mouth, tried to breathe, but dirt seeped into every crevice, choking him. He struggled against the earth, clawing until he reached the top. Pulling himself from his grave, he collapsed on top of the soft green grass of Vigrid. He was alive. His fall through the void had not killed him. 

Then he noticed something was wrong. There was something wrong with his body. It didn’t quite match up to how he remembered it. It was him, but it wasn’t him. The scars that littered his flesh spoke of torture, of battles, of horrors he had never faced. He looked back down at the grave he had freed himself of. It wasn’t his grave, it was another Loki’s, these were _his_ bones. 

Loki struggled to their feet and wandered away from the meadow. They didn’t think of what they would do or where they would go. Thinking was beyond them at the moment. They just walked. They had no sooner left Vigrid when they came across a man they would come to know as Ebony Maw. 

“So, you are the creature that managed to come back from death itself. How interesting. My Master wishes to speak with you.” 

That was how they found themselves acting out the same old story, only the names had changed. A Thanos instead of a Geirrod. A Titan instead of a Jotun. But still Loki found themselves ensnared by a mad man, tortured within an inch of his life, and offered a way out but for a terrible price. The old Loki had never been able to withstand pain, and the new Loki wasn’t too fond of it himself. 

Of course their conquest of Midgard failed. They did not think that they ever truly believe it would succeed. But a least they had fun while it lasted. Except for that bit at the end with the Hulk. And his prison was nicer this time around too. Not a snake in sight. 

_Not yet anyway,_ the old Loki whispered. If the Allfather had even a shred of love left for Loki after what had happened on the Bifrost, it was gone now. Loki wondered just how far they could push him, how far would they need to go. They almost wished it would happen. They were left sitting on the knife’s edge, ready to jump.

* * *

_They finally arrived at the hall of Utgard-Loki. Loki was exhausted and hungry and tired of being called ‘the Other Loki’. All he wanted to do was eat, find a bed and a willing maid or man to warm it, and go to sleep._

_Utgard-Loki refused to give him any of these things. Not without testing him first. “No one is allowed to stay until they have performed a feat.”_

_Thor looked positively delighted at the prospect and immediately offered, “I will fight whoever you choose. No one is stronger than me.”_

_The Thunderer’s manservant Thialfi was quick to step up next. “I am as fast as the wind. I have never been defeated in a race and I never will be.”_

_Then all eyes were on him. Loki could smell venison, and cake, and beer. He was so hungry. “I will out-eat anyone,” he said. Thor shot him a look that was full of disappointment, but not a hint of surprise. Let him think what he wanted. Even if Loki lost, he would still get a meal out of it. Win-win._

The second time Loki pulled himself out of one of his many graves, he knew what was happening. He still didn’t understand _why_ but the _what_ was no longer a mystery. This new Loki was a hedonist. He cared for nothing but pleasure, and neither of the other two Lokis were inclined to try and stop his baser desires from overpowering them. 

Loki had a plan. His Father was hardly the man he once was. It would be such a simple thing to cast a little spell – just a little one, nothing truly harmful, nothing at all like a snake – and simply... take over while wearing Odin’s face. He would need to kill Heimdall, of course. Otherwise, Heimdall would kill him and Loki was starting to think that maybe that was why he kept coming back. That he had a destiny and nothing – Not Odin and his happy endings, and not even death – could stop it. His death would either be at Heimdall’s hands or it would not come at all. 

But Heimdall had already fled, having seen Loki slip back inside the palace. It was a problem and Loki should have been searching the whole cosmos for him, but every time he tried to focus something would catch his eye. The newest creation from his favorite chef, a pretty woman, a pretty man, his play, Matt Damon, kidnapping Matt Damon and forcing him to act in his play. Loki used to have so many plans, so many dreams of what he would do once he had taken the throne and like water they seeped between his fingers, washed away by the thoughts of the other two Lokis pressing into his brain. His thoughts became so tangled that he couldn’t tell which ones were his and which ones were theirs. 

And then came the Grandmaster. One Loki warned that he was exactly like Thanos, like Geirrod. He would imprison them here on Sakaar. The other Loki suggested to play the little lord’s game. Match him for each depravity. If escape was impossible, then embrace it. Sucking the Grandmaster’s cock was a better use of his time then dying in his arena. And Thor ruined it. He ruined it like he ruined everything. He made them feel... shame and loneliness and _it was not fair_. He shouldn’t feel so alone, not with all the Lokis crowding inside his head. They would prove him wrong. They were... they were _Loki_ and they were king and they were more than Sakaar, and whatever else Thor thought of them. 

The only thing standing in their way was Heimdall. Heimdall always watched them. Heimdall always had Thor’s ear. Heimdall was plotting to kill them, they could see it in his eyes. Heimdall would kill them and when he did there would be no coming back. Fighting him would not change the course of destiny. The hundreds of Lokis scattered about Vigrid was testament to that. Perhaps it was time to change the game. Pleasure instead of pain.

* * *

Heimdall did not know what to think at first. Loki was still as conniving as ever, as duplicitous and contrarian as his nature dictated, and yet he seemed to be making an honest effort to channel these traits into something... if not good, then useful. Even when no one was watching, no one but Heimdall. But was Loki aware that Heimdall was paying particularly close attention to him? Was this all a part of some longer scheme? 

Loki’s slow striptease one night when alone in his bedroom was enough to answer yes, Loki was fully aware that Heimdall was watching him. But as weeks passed, stuck in close quarters on the ship, Heimdall firmly decided that there was no scheme in the making, no trick. Not because Loki had suddenly grown a set of morals, but because he no longer seemed capable of it. Before his fall from the Bifrost, Loki’s patience was legendary. He had been known to plot his mischief years in advance. Now, he could barely stay focused for more than a day or two. He no longer planned, he only reacted and made up the rest as he went. It was a frightening thought. 

All his fears were confirmed one evening when Loki, drunk on brandy he had stolen from the Valkyrie, came into his room and kissed him. This was not the same boy he had watched for years, too shy to even talk to the Lady Sigyn whom he had held a torch since he had been a gangling lad. 

Heimdall let him crawl into his lap, press kisses to his lips and face, but did nothing to either stop or encourage him. Loki smiled sharply against his lips. “Does not the whitest of gods feel lust? Or are you too pure for that?” 

Loki yelped when Heimdall suddenly grasped his arms, hard enough to bruise. “Why did you call me that?” He demanded. 

“Call you what?” 

“’The whitest of gods.’ It’s not a very accurate description of me, is it?” 

Loki huffed. “I do not know. I don’t even remember saying it.” 

Heimdall increased the pressure and watched as Loki squirmed. “But you did say it. Where did you hear it? Who told you?” 

Loki twisted and Heimdall twisted with him, dropping one arm to grasp his chin, forcing him to look up, to meet his eyes. “Loki... Who is your king?” 

“What?” 

“Who is king? I want you to say his name.” 

Loki stared for a moment, before bursting into a fit of laughter. “Do you think I have forgotten the name of my sworn brother?” 

“Your _sworn_ brother, Loki? Or your _adopted_ brother?” Heimdall demanded. 

Loki disappeared from his grasp, slipping out from between his fingers and fading into the shadows. He did not see him again until Thanos attacked.

* * *

_Loki ran a cool rag across the flesh of her son, chipping away at the dried blood that decorated his corpse. Her boy, her little boy, felled in battle. His brothers-in-arms assured her he had died a warrior’s death. Damn them, she hoped her daughter fed on their bones. What did she care about an honorable death? War was nothing to be proud of. Her child was dead._

_She heard nothing, saw nothing, but she knew the exact moment when Odin stepped inside her house. “Get out.”_

_Odin huffed. “Come, brother, you’ve frittered away enough years pretending to be a farmer’s wife. There’s nothing left for you here.”_

_“There’s nothing left for me back in Asgard!” She screamed. “You stole my children! You took them from me and you threw them away!”_

_“They were not children. They were monsters.”_

_“They were children,” she hissed. “You would think differently if they had been your own. There are some who believe Thor to be a monster. Surely he’s slaughtered enough innocents to be called one. Shall we not hurl him into the sea with Jormungandr?”_

The third time, Loki was wild with grief. They did not feel the arms wrapped around their body, the extra weight as someone was pulled up from the grave with them. They buried their fingernails into the dirt and howled. Hela. Their Hela. What have they done? They’ve killed her. They killed her and did not even know who she had belonged to. How could they have forgotten their little girl? 

Odin. It was Odin. He stole her from them, claimed her as his own, just like he had stolen Loki. 

Loki pulled themselves up and took stock of their new body. This one was female, with wide hips and a soft tummy. A mother’s body. 

A gasp nearby shook them from their reverie. Heimdall crawled blindly over the grass, his eyes closed for once in his life. They had forgotten that they were not the only ones buried here. For every Loki there was a Heimdall. This Heimdall was nearly identical to the one before, except when he opened his eyes they were no longer the soft gold Loki had come to know so well, but a milky whiteness. Eyes that can see nothing and can see everything.

“Loki.” The word was sucked from him. It’s always hard, the first time. 

Loki leaned forward and wrapped their arms around him. Heimdall grasped at them with shaking hands. Here they were, on the fields of Vigrid, and this time they were alive.


End file.
